


Tales of Gondolin

by underoriginal



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A little bit of everything really, Angst, But mostly angst, Fluff, Gondolin, Multi, most other genres, shiny things are the result of most evil, sparkly elves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underoriginal/pseuds/underoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots about Gondolin and her inhabitants, mostly centering around Rog, Egalmoth, and their love story, but expect every one else in Gondolin to show up at some point.</p><p>Chapter 1: Of Strength. Turgon asks Egalmoth to broker an alliance with the elves who escaped Morgoth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Gondolin

“Egalmoth, do you have a moment?.”

Egalmoth glanced up from Duilin’s hair. The grass in Nevrast was an interesting shade of purple that looked magnificent in Duilin’s locks, but that thought fled his mind when he saw his visitor.

“Aran Turgon,” Egalmoth gasped and shot to his feet, dipping into a bow. “How may I serve you?”

The king chuckled and waved Duilin away. “There’s no need for the formality, child,” he said, sitting down on Egalmoth’s second favorite cushion. Egalmoth hadn’t gotten around to making chairs yet. He figured that could wait until he no longer lived in a tent.

“Oh good,” he said. “I was worried you’d make me act proper.” He shuddered in distaste at the thought and drifted behind Turgon to brush out his hair.

“I may yet,” Turgon warned, undoing his braids to allow Egalmoth easy access. “I’m sure you’ve seen the...settlement on our borders.”

Egalmoth hummed his acknowledgment. He’d have to be blind and deaf not to know of the escaped slaves that had taken up residence in a sprawling city of tents and rough shelters on the outskirts of Nevrast, nestled deep into the mountains. He’d even managed to catch a glimpse of their elusive leader, an impressively tall and broad figure with a white braid and mask, though no more than a glimpse. “Is there a problem with them? They seem pretty nice to me.” He started a four strand braid at the base of Turgon’s neck.

“Quite honestly, I don’t know that we can trust them,” Turgon admitted.

“And I think that’s pretty stupid of you,” Egalmoth retorted.

“Oh?” Turgon asked. “And why would that be?” If anyone else had called him stupid, there would have been hell to pay, but Turgon had practically adopted Egalmoth, so he could get away with a lot more.

“They escaped the enemy, didn’t they? Why would they turn around and serve him?” Egalmoth asked, twining garnet beads into Turgon’s braid.

Turgon turned around to stare into his eyes. “Yes, I think you’ll do,” he murmured.

“Do what?” Egalmoth asked, tying off the end of the braid.

“I need someone to go talk to their leader and determine where their loyalties lie. I know you wish to believe that they are our allies, but even elves who lived their entire lives in Valinor can be corrupted into the greatest evil of all. I can not trust these slaves until I know for sure.”

Egalmoth took another section of Turgon’s hair and started braiding in some of the purple grass like he would ribbons. “I can try,” he said. “But I don’t think they really want to talk to anyone.” A few of Turgon’s people had made half-hearted attempts to talk to the thralls, but for the most part, the thralls kept to themselves and spoke seldom to outsiders. “If I’m going to do this, I want a favor in return.”

“Name it,” Turgon said.

“If I think they’re trustworthy, let me offer an alliance.”

Turgon nodded. “I will trust you in this, child, but for both of our sakes, I pray you make the right choice.”

With those ominous words, he left the tent.

Egalmoth made his move a few days later. The settlement was a day’s march from Vinyamar so he set out early in the morning. By the time the moon began to rise he could see the tent city. As far as he knew, its only permanent settlement was their leader’s forge that had been carved into the mountains and from which he could see smoke rising. 

As he approached the tent city, the few elves who were still outside vanished, save for an elleth whose face had been scarred beyond any recognition. She wore a simple, roughspun black tunic and bore a spiked flail.

“No further,” she snapped, the words grating against his ears like her throat had not been formed to utter a civilized tongue. “State your purpose.”

Egalmoth stopped a stone’s throw away from the guard, holding his hands out so she could see that he would not reach for a weapon. “I am Egalmoth, ward of Turgon. I wish to speak to your leader.”

The guard looked over him with a critical eye. “State your purpose,” she repeated, enunciating every syllable carefully.

“I wish to speak to your leader of a potential alliance,” Egalmoth said.

Again, the guard scrutinized him. “You lie,” she said, but there was no anger in her tone. “Come. I will take you to him.”

Egalmoth trailed behind her, trying to beat down his nervousness. She didn’t speak again until they reached the forge. Its doors were made of slats of wood bound together haphazardly with rope and chain and Egalmoth could see the silhouettes of the smiths moving around inside. Aside from the light of the forge, there were no lanterns or candles.

The guard knocked on the door and exchanged a few quiet words with one of the smiths, who beckoned another over. The three of them conversed rapidly. Egalmoth tried to eavesdrop, but the noises from the smithy drowned out the conversation. 

Finally, one of the smiths beckoned him over. “I am called Draugil,” she said. “I will take you to Rog, but I can not say that Rog will speak with you.”

The forges were much larger than Egalmoth had realized, extending deep into the mountains. Draugil led him down a long, winding path that curved steadily downwards. It was lit only by the glow of Egalmoth's fëa, but Draugil seemed to know exactly where she was going. Her fëa was too dim for him to make out. It made him nervous. He could feel the stone closing in overhead like the curls of ice on the Helcaraxë and it became harder and harder for him to breathe. He made a couple feeble attempts at conversation, but Draugil ignored him. 

Before long, they reached the end of a long tunnel. This cavern's doors were made of iron, thicker and stronger by far than the doors on the surface. Draugil knocked three times on the door and left. 

The door opened with a thunderous crash and Egalmoth blinked in the light from the forge. A massive, thickly muscled ellon stood in the doorway. He wore a dusty smith's apron and thick black gloves. His face was covered by a featureless white mask, stained black in places by ash. 

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice rattling around the room, so thickly accented that Egalmoth could barely understand him. 

Egalmoth swallowed his fear. "I am here on behalf of King Turgon," he said. "He wishes to forge an alliance. Are you in charge here?"

The ellon looked at him. "I fix things," he said. 

"Is that a yes?" Egalmoth asked. 

"No."

The ellon nodded to himself. "I am Rog," he said. "We will talk."

Rog led him back into his forge. It was one of six identical workspaces in a semicircle around a square pool of water. Egalmoth eyed the water longingly. The heat of the air weighed on him like a boulder around his neck. Rog picked up a hammer and started beating out a long piece of steel. He waved the ellon at the bellows away and gestured for Egalmoth to take his place. They worked in relative silence for some time while Egalmoth tried to remember how to breathe. 

"What can Turgon give?" Rog asked, not looking up from his work. 

"Food," Egalmoth gasped. "Protection. Information."

Rog considered it. "We have those," he said. 

"It can't hurt to have more." Egalmoth's arms burned from the strain and the heat. 

Rog set aside the hammer. "It might. Nothing for nothing." He picked up another steel blank and set it in the fire, sending another wave of heat spiralling through the room. 

Egalmoth could barely think, but Rog didn't seem to notice how long it took him to form a reply. "We need weapons."

Rog made a sound that might have been a laugh. "You give protection with no weapons? Does Turgon fight with tooth and claw? He will not live long this way. I will shelter him no more than I would a fly."

Furious, Egalmoth whirled towards Rog, but the heat of the forge and the weight of the mountains took their toll and he stumbled. Unable to balance through the haze of dizziness that gripped him, he fell. Rog caught him across the chest and shouted something in a language Egalmoth didn't recognize. Then, Rog picked him up and carried him off. Egalmoth only the faintest awareness that they were going up until he found himself beneath the open sky. 

He gasped for breath like he had been drowning, letting the cold northern air fill his lungs and wash out the heat of the forge. He counted nearly a minute before he could properly take in his surroundings. Rog had brought him to a small watchtower looking out over Nevrast. Off in the distance he could see the great roof of Turgon's hall, glimmering silver in the light of the stars. A few steel chains hung from the ceiling, excess from where they bound the beams together. 

"You are not whole?" Rog asked from the doorway. 

"I'll be fine," Egalmoth said. "I just don't like being underground."

Rog nodded. "You did not say."

Egalmoth shrugged. "I thought I could handle it. I guess I was wrong."

"We will talk here," Rog said. "You will have your sky."

"Thank you," Egalmoth said sincerely. Then he remembered why he had almost fainted. "And I'll thank you more not to insult King Turgon again."

Rog laughed. "I do not. I speak as I see. He wants from me but I see nothing I can want from him. Your king is very weak to come to me."

Egalmoth glared. "He survived the Grinding Ice," he snarled. "He led us through it safely. He's not weak. You have no idea what strength he has."

"You are brave," Rog decided, voic still tinged with amusement. "Not many dare to argue with me."

Suddenly, Egalmoth remembered that he was practically unarmed, in Rog's territory, and backed into a corner. Even dressed for hard work, Rog had two long daggers strapped to his sides and he bore his smith’s hammer. Egalmoth had only brought a short knife as a precaution on the road.

"I thought you said you weren't in charge," he said, looking around for a way out. The mountains were rough enough that he could traverse them easily, but he had no idea if any of Rog's people had archers. 

"These people were owned once," Rog said cooly. "They will not be owned again. I fix things when things need fixing, but I am no master and I will not help a master of others."

"Turgon gave us all the chance to turn back," Egalmoth explained. "Some of us did. We all serve him by our own choice."

"You told Awarthiel you were Turgon's ward," Rog said. "Did you choose to serve him?"

Egalmoth drew himself up to his full height. He didn’t even come up to Rog’s shoulder. "My reasons are my own. It's none of your business why I stay with him. Will you help us or not?"

Rog tapped his fingers against his thigh with no rhythm that Egalmoth could discern. "You are fond of Turgon?"

"I am," Egalmoth agreed warily. 

"Why?" 

"Why do you want to know?" Egalmoth asked. 

Rog stared at him. "If you do not answer the question, you will leave now. If you answer the question you will leave later and we will talk."

Egalmoth considered his options. "That's not a fair trade," he said. "Nothing for nothing."

"What do you wish to know?" Rog asked. His tone was perfectly level, betraying nothing of his emotions. 

"How did you break free of Morgoth?"

Every muscle in Rog's body tensed at the name and for a moment, Egalmoth feared that Rog would attack him. Then, Rog relaxed. 

"You will answer first."

Egalmoth looked up at the sky, sending a quick prayer for strength to Elentári. "How much do you know of the Noldor?" he asked, trying to figure out how best to phrase his thoughts. 

"I know they went West," Rog said. "To Valinor. And I know they abandoned Valinor for jewels." He spat the word 'jewels' like it was particularly foul. "Your Turgon is a Noldo, yes?"

"He is," Egalmoth. "Do you know of the Helcaraxë?"

"You ask many questions," Rog noted with bitter amusement. "You want more answers than you give. But you are young and the young wish to know. I know of the ice well. Better than you, I would say."

"Why would you say that?" Egalmoth asked. 

"You shine," Rog noted. "You shine with a brilliant light, but it is not the light that shines in your kins' eyes. You were born on these lands, not in Valinor."

Egalmoth smiled thinly. This was harder to talk about than he had expected. "You're half right," he said, unable to keep the old grief from his voice. "I was born on the Helcaraxë."

Rog drew back, startled. Egalmoth had doubted he was even capable of surprise. The sight strengthened his nerve and he went on. 

"It was maybe a couple months of the sun after the journey began, but there's no real way to tell for sure. I was born before anyone had developed any skill in navigating the ice. I was born long before I should have been. My mother barely survived the birth." Egalmoth took a deep breath and looked Rog in the eye. "She didn't survive the ice drifts."

He shrugged, trying to put aside any emotion. He barely remembered his mother anymore. He knew his grief better than he knew her face. "Her and my father were lost when the ice opened up unexpectedly. Turgon's wife, Elenwë, died too. So he looked after me."

Rog stood motionless. "He is strong to endure this pain. You are strong to endure this. You are more strong than I knew." He inclined his head, somewhere between a nod and a bow. "I will speak with Turgon, if you bring him here."

He beckoned to the tunnel. "You will need to be strong," he said. "This is the only way out."

Egalmoth looked up at the mountainside. It was sheer and forbidding, but no more so than any of the massive glaciers he had grown up with. If nothing else, it was worth a shot. He'd gotten very good at falling safely. 

"You didn't answer my question," he said, bracing himself to jump. “How did you escape?”

Rog finally stepped out into the open sky, grabbing onto one of the dangling chains. His fist clenched around it. When he opened his hand, the links were flattened together, except for the edges, which had been cracked almost all the way through. "You are strong," Rog repeated. "I am strong. In other ways. Come. It is time to leave."

"I really don't like being underground," Egalmoth said, his heart racing even as he knew he would not take that path. 

"This is the only way out," Rog cautioned. "You will have to find your strength."

Egalmoth flashed a brilliant smile and lept. He grabbed the chains and swung himself onto the roof. From there, he found a foothold and started climbing down. Rog's expression was impossible to read behind his mask, but his eyes followed Egalmoth's every move. 

"This is my strength" Egalmoth said, clinging to the cliff face. "When do you want to meet Turgon? I was thinking next week."

Rog recovered quickly. "You will be there," he said. "One week."

"One week," Egalmoth affirmed. 

More than a few of Rog's folk watched him on the way down, buf none of them tried to stop him. He was grateful; the stone didn't yield to his fingers as ice and snow once did and the passage was more difficult than he had expected. Still, he reached the ground safely, jumping the last twenty feet to spare himself the effort. 

He stood from the crouch he's landed in to see Rog waiting at the entrance to the forge. "There's no way you could have gotten here before me," Egalmoth said. 

There was an edge of amusement in Rog's voice. "There are many paths down. Most are under stone. Some are shorter than others. I would have taken you on one of these paths."

Egalmoth grimaced. "You could have mentioned that sooner."

"I did not expect you to do as you did," Rog said. "Here. Take this as a show of friendship." He held out a long curved sword with a single, magnificent opal embedded in the pommel. 

"Thank you," Egalmoth murmured, accepting the sword reverentially. It fit his hand as though it had been made for him. "It's perfect."

"All my work is," Rog said. "One week. Bring the sword. I wish to see your strength with it."

Egalmoth grinned nervously and resolved to seek out Glorfindel as soon as he returned home. He only had a week to practice and he’d always been more of an archer.


End file.
